


lullaby for the flightless

by ephedilia



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Gen, Other, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephedilia/pseuds/ephedilia
Summary: The merchant announces. “I repeat! I repeat! King Lima IV of Zofia is dead!”Conrad only registers his feet moving. He gets away, further and further, his eyes firmly on the road to the house.





	lullaby for the flightless

Rigel has a phrase.

_You reap what you sow._

The Hamlet is separated from the empire, but it’s a place under Duma’s protection. The people around him live how they’re taught—strength over pleasure and indulgence. It makes sense. It’s already hard to survive on a barren land, and Conrad agrees. The discontent is towards the ones that never take responsibility for their actions. Power either leads to happiness or unhappiness. A misuse of that ends up changing the lives of countless.

Fitting. It’s really fitting in the way he’s grown up the last years.

And it’s easier to forget some things from his childhood, like his education and etiquette lessons. It’s easier to forget the gardens.

“Lima IV is dead!”

It’s less easier to forget the gruesome details. Like his half of his parentage.

“Did you hear that?” Halcyon says. His staff leans towards the merchant, before looking at him. “What do you think?”

He picks up the groceries tightly, the bag is half-empty but, somehow, it’s heavier than before. The harvest in Rigel has done anything but improve. His hands feel ready to drop everything. Instead, he listens. The numbness spreads as the words pile up—assassination, regicide, Desaix. Sure, the news travel fast, except they only travel faster when the death of some people that believe they’re untouchable happen.

“It’s probably nothing new if it has reached us,” he replies.

Halcyon nods. “You’re right.” A thoughtful, contemplative expression slips on his face.

The man resumes his walk, and his presence is the only reason Conrad knows why his feet are steady and firm on the ground.

Nearby them, people circle around the merchant, worried and intrigued about the news.

Sometimes, Conrad wonders, if they know what’s going through his head. It’s an open secret, nobody has tried to pretend the opposite, but the semblance of normalcy is falling apart. He’s grateful for their worry, the furtive glances at him are for his well-being, except it’s difficult. It’s difficult to remember a life from years ago.

It feels like a fraction of forever to come back to his senses. And Conrad spends the next seconds, listening to the villagers, almost ready to wander until it’s all over but he sneaks a glance and finds another pair of eyes.

Halcyon, understanding but firm Halcyon, looks back at him. _Will you be alright?_

He doesn’t know.

“I repeat! I repeat! King Lima IV of Zofia is dead!”

Conrad only registers his feet moving. He gets away, further and further, his eyes firmly on the road to the house.

That man had been nothing but a stranger.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Life in court had been—all but safe.

The gazes of the nobles, and the whispers of some servants when they saw his mother were harsh, judging, disgusted. He’d been too young to understand, but children always sensed everything. It was no exception. Conrad begun to learn to disappear when something (“His Majesty is coming in a few days.”) happened, the places of the villa he could walk without feeling nervous, and to giggle when his mother would take him outside.

On sunnier days, she always looked less like a shadow. Her smile would become wide and gentle, singing and teaching about the skies, the forests, and the mountains of Rigel. His mother repeated everything, until he was able to imagine the villages and the people.

It was no place of misfortune and unhappiness. It never was when his mother spoke of her homeland.

His mother had laughed at him. (“You’re part of them, too.”)

Innocently, his hands on hers, he promised to go back with her.

He still could remember her bright eyes and her tight embrace, immediate after he had told her, telling him to love Rigel as much as she did.

That night, Conrad asked lady Liprica why people were so hostile against his mother, her face blanked before letting a sad, lonely smile. Before he could grasp it, lady Liprica had smiled, a softer smile, and told him the tale of the gods. Duma and Mila had fought for centuries, rebelled against each other’s belief, despite their love for another, until they had understood they thought opposite. People had followed who they believed was right and it had carried over.

(“There’s no right or wrong. Only a lot of pain and misunderstandings.”)

After Anthiese was born, their visits to lady Liprica increased.

She was squishy and loud, but Conrad learned to love her. Her cries worried him and lady Liprica reassured him, she was either hungry or moody. (“It’s not your fault. Here, Conrad, you hold her like this.”) But the bigger Anthiese became, the more lady Liprica became thinner and paler. His mother tried to never leave the room, her smiles dimmer, and she would cry when Conrad asked her what was wrong.

The nurses and maids begun coming often.

Anthiese would be passed to the handmaidens, and her cries were louder than anything. Soon, it became a signal that something unspeakable was happening. Weeks after, the villa was immersed into a silence so deep, Conrad had become afraid to open his mouth. He felt he had no voice anymore. His mother was similar, her eyes were duller, and her arms would wrap tightly around him, begging him to stay with her.

Lady Liprica only lasted a week more before a funeral was arranged.

Only later, much later, Conrad had understood his mother and Anthiese’s had been best friends.

Anthiese became his playmate. His mother always saw him off, her smile reaching her eyes, when he went to play with her. They were close in age, except Anthiese led and he followed. His little sister acted like the older one, picking the pace of their games, and the villa became a place of sunshine. On scary nights, she slipped her hand on his and Conrad would fall asleep easier, happy to have her there.

Some servants protested, over their closeness, but his mother only smiled and dismissed them. Her arms had wrapped around him, telling him strength was required different forms. If his sister was his strength, he could be hers too. Conrad had nodded, meekly, and leaned for a hug, not understanding the reason why he felt like crying.

The day after, he woke up in middle of fire and screams.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The afternoon’s light flickers.

He walks around the house, looking for dirty clothes and tidying up. It’s a welcoming distraction, since the news were delivered, to improve his skills or help on mundane affairs. His muscles are too stiff, his breath gets stuck when his memory goes back to that morning. His guard is down too, Conrad admits to himself, he turns around and his younger sister stares back.

He had believed he had grown out of the habit.

Being nostalgic will bring him nothing. He's careful to navigate through the studio, filled with dust and the smell of ink, before he stops.

Halcyon’s habits are well-known. The corner of the room is covered in papers, piled up enough and in near danger to fall if an earthquake happens. Herbs and some plants hung with hand-made medicines, a contrast to the staff resting a top of the table but Conrad knows there's always more than one in case Halcyon forgets it after his daily preaching. And forgotten, the cup of wine is untouched.

He hesitates. It’s nothing like when he was a child, trying to find the fuss of alcohol, and getting a lecture later. Any waste of food is a crime in Rigel, since the few pleasures they can get, no matter the harvest, are drinking and dancing. The arrival of spring is always a celebration of joy and expectation.

The door opens.

“Ah, Conrad.” Halcyon says, smiling. “Is it already time for dinner?”

“It’ll take another hour.”

“That will be fine. There is nothing to rush for today.”

Halcyon walks in, his eyes thoughtful, and sighs. Conrad decides to not beat up around the bush.

“Did something happen?”

His guardian pauses and looks at him. The stare he gave was one Conrad had learned to read to understand the moods of the man. Be patient, do not rush it in.

“I received a letter from a cleric of Novis.” Halcyon says and his eyes look over his pile of books to him, dusting them away before he settles the lamp on the table. The wax is half-consumed and Conrad awaits. “A priestess by the name of Celica is on a journey to the Temple of Mila.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The handmaiden puts a hand on his shoulder.

The air shifts. Conrad tries to not look at the candles or the nearby fire, hidden in middle of forgotten manuscripts and books. He wants to lift the papers, put them somewhere safer, but his hands have never lifted anything heavy, much less things similar to that.

“It must’ve been quite the travel to make it here.” An exhale. “I’m truly sorry.”

He whimpers, his eyes fixed on his tiny boots. The air is cold and the shadows scare him, and he wants his mother. He wants nothing but her warmth.

The flames are still vivid, and his eyes sting again, until all is blurry and his cheeks are wet from his tears. His sister’s laugh echoes in his mind, along with his mother’s last goodnight kiss, and he wants to go back to villa and be with them. He had failed them and he had no right to be alive. He should have stayed with them.

The handmaiden mutters something. (“I’m sure, nobody has followed us.”)

Conrad hiccups, ignoring all around him.

“Will you permit me?”

There’s a conversation, he knows. It reminds him how little he matters in the world.

“Lord Duma, please look over this child.”

A blanket falls to his shoulders.

Conrad almost jumps.

Scared, he rises his head to find an unreadable gaze. It’s not a smile but the more he looks at it, his feet ceases shaking and he’s quiet again. Many times, lady Liprica had spoken of the clerics of the temple she had lived in. The chants and mystical dances offered to Milla and how the Mother smiled towards them from her throne, accompanied by a few maidens. The pure, clean waters and the murals with the story of Valentia.

“It’s not different from the Duma faithful, Conrad.” His mother had said and held his hand, singing about the mountains and the rivers. The servants would whisper whenever they caught her but his mother only smiled. “Some serve Milla and others not.”

Conrad clutches his hand against the blanket and clings to it, worried of saying something wrong. But the man waits and his face is still soft and patient.

“What’s your name, boy?”

His eyes are puffy and his throat is hoarse, but he musters up enough courage. “Conrad, sir.”

The man smiles. “I’m Halcyon. Welcome to the Sage’s Hamlet.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the handmaiden had rushed him to run, Conrad had asked about his sister.

He had probably known enough about how grim the world was to understand his mother would never return.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_—If you’re bad, a ghost will come and get you from Fear Mountain._

A whimper.

The night is cold. His feet shake under the mattress, and he’s afraid. The house is quiet and it’s too similar to the villa before the flames. The blanket is bigger than him and it’s rough, his shoulders try their best to not let it fall and wake up anyone. It’s a painful reminder, he remembers how to hide, out of fear, when Lima came the weekends. And on happier days, to wait until Anthiese found him when they played hide-and-seek.

His steps are all he hears as he walks away from the house.

His mother had loved Rigel.

Conrad tries to understand, but the forests and the mountains are big, and the sunshine doesn’t reach him. It doesn’t bring him warmth. He doesn’t understand. Everything but being here. He wants to go back. He wants to go back. He wants to go where his mother is. He wants to see Anthiese again.

But—she’s not around to hold his hand anymore.

The tears fall and he waits for the ghost. He's been bad. He has failed his mother, he has failed his sister and he wants to be with them. He wants to love Rigel but the world is scary and horrible.

“Conrad! Where are you!”

He fell to his grass and held his knees.

The blanket stayed. It would keep him company until the ghost came.

“Oh, child.”

Conrad rises his eyes and finds Halcyon, pale with his eyes wide. His chest was rising over and over and his clothes looked less prim than hours before. Conrad opens his mouth to tell him to go away. But his throat hurts and all that escaped was a sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He apologized to his mother.

To his sister.

To lady Liprica.

And himself for being too weak.

“I’m here, you can cry.”

Two arms wrapped around him. They were different from his mother's but he recognized the feeling. His eyes stung more as he listened to Halcyon’s heartbeat.

“The Father will not condemn you. Crying isn’t a weakness.”

His small hands cling to Halcyon’s back. The world feels so big and scarier than before and Conrad sniffs, his sobs turning louder, crying for being alive.

 

  

* * *

 

 

“You’re leaving,” Halcyon says.

The night is cold and dreary, the terrors lying ahead of the path. Conrad has become fond of the blue skies and the chill air but Rigel suffers. The harvest has been unsuccessful, again, and he doubts Zofia will be kind to share food. Desaix is a lousy rat yet smart to murder Zofia with his schemes and that’s worse than anything.

“I’m afraid I have to,” Conrad answers.

A long time ago, Conrad would have been terrified of stepping into Zofia. The flames consumed his childhood along with that short-lived happiness. The people are gone but he’s alive. It should be enough, letting go and starting anew. The Hamlet has been a refuge, far more beautiful and sorrowful than the villa. His mother would have adored it. Perhaps, that’s the most difficult.

Strength has many forms and this one—

He supposes this is another way of being strong.

“Thank you for all until now,” Conrad takes a deep breath. He turns around and he offers a short bow to the man but he stops.

Halcyon’s hand is around the staff. He always gives the same pose when he preaches to the villagers but Conrad looks at the fingers, clinging tighter to the wood, and the words he wants to say disappear. There’s no easier way to say goodbye, and he wishes he could throw the mask off and smile. A few years ago, he would have attempted it. Cheering Halcyon up and getting a smile in return.

“I understand,” Halcyon says.

His eyes feel heavier. Conrad pretends the mask is hanging down and his hand pushes it upwards.

He had already said his oath. He had promised more than enough, out of respect for the man, but his whole body is heavy.

“Safe travels, Conrad.”

Conrad turns around to see Halcyon. He looks at him with tired eyes, older than ever, but his face is sincere and the smile he gives is the same his mother had before she told him to love Rigel as she did. His hands tighten around the reins and the sage's figure becomes smaller.

His mind engraves the last memory of Halcyon.

And Conrad goes into the dark.

 

 

* * *

 

  

“Mother?”

“Conrad, what's wrong?”

“Do you… Do you miss your home?"

“I do.”

“Oh…”

“But you know? I don’t need to go back.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. I have you here and lady Liprica too.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Mother, how is Rigel?”

“It’s beautiful. One day, I wish you can go there and see it for yourself.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Zofia is beautiful. But the trees and the mountains are so different, you can feel how the Father blessed it, so differently from here._

The air is warm. It suffocates with heaviness and the sensation of the unspoken. It's dying. Everything is dying.

Rigel flourishes. Zofia dies.

His hands stop the reins.

The world is so different and he finds no words for the sight he witnesses. Valentia is changing, for better or worse. His mind is fresh with Halcyon’s face under the night and the daily happiness of the village and it’s tempting to turn back and let the world do the change on its own. But his sister is still out there, alone. He wonders if her smile still brightens others.

Conrad adjusts his mask. He opens his eyes again.

The sight of the castle is a reminder of the duty on his shoulders.

_Love Rigel as much as I do, Conrad. But remember to love Zofia too, for I was blessed to have met you here and nowhere else._

Conrad breathes in.

He never had other choice.

His throat tightens. Conrad waits, letting the tears fall before he looks over at the castle. After so long, he wants to allow himself a final selfish act. He opens his mouth and welcomes the decadence and the splendor of Zofia again.

“I’m back, Mother.”

**Author's Note:**

> i blame a friend for all this.
> 
> the game never gave us a hint of conrad's backstory and i decided to write it! if celica gets nomah and mycen, what about her brother? i like to imagine halcyon is the father conrad wished he had instead.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
